


And through the bleak, You.

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, gentle angst, s8 doesn't exist, soulmate identifying colorblindness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: They say that the fates must have been cruel to play such a trick on humanity, but Shiro's never been the type to let something shape his destiny for him anyway. After all, what does it matter to a walking time bomb if he'll never have the sight? If nothing else at least someone will get to experience the joy of life in color a little earlier that expected when he withers away.That's what he tells himself anyway – that he's content to live in shades of gray for his whole life, that he'll burn bright enough to leave his mark on the entire world before lighting up someone else's. And he believes it, mostly.Then he starts to see the flickers.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 148





	And through the bleak, You.

**Author's Note:**

> For Narc, who decided that a world where you see color when your soulmate dies was an acceptable idea to bring into the world <3

They say that the fates must have been cruel to play such a trick on humanity, but Shiro's never been the type to let something shape his destiny for him anyway. After all, what does it matter to a walking time bomb if he'll never have the sight? If nothing else at least someone will get to experience the joy of life in color a little earlier that expected when he withers away.

That's what he tells himself anyway – that he's content to live in shades of gray for his whole life, that he'll burn bright enough to leave his mark on the entire world before lighting up someone else's. And he believes it, mostly.

Then he starts to see the flickers.

They say that you don't see the colors until the dying breath, but Shiro knows that's not true. It can't be, not when he gets a flash of vibrant desert rock as he streaks across the hard packed dirt, startling enough that he nearly goes careening off a ledge in shock.

He calls Adam in a panic, but everything is fine.

He doesn't have the heart to tell him why he's so shaken, not when the world has faded back into subtle shades of gray.

They don't last much longer after that. It probably hurts less than it should, but it's certainly no burst of color in the desert.

He takes solace in those rocks still, though he's not alone as he streaks through the canyons and hurtles from the cliffs.

Sometimes he looks at the boy beside him and wonders if he doesn't burn as brightly as these sands had. Sometimes he swears he can see the flickers on his skin – but no. A man who has seen color always remembers it, even if just in its shades of gray.

That's how he knows the jacket wrapping around Keith's shoulders is the same color that crackles over the logs outside the desert shack on their stolen nights. The same as the stripes on the flight suit that he dons before pulling Keith into a hug and launching into the stars.

It's not the same as the glowing patterns burning on the breastplates of the aliens that cripple their ship and drag them away.

It's not the same as the alien blood spilled on the sands as Shiro fells yet another opponent, thinking only of his own survival, of going out on his own terms for once in his life.

Sometimes he wonders which day his soulmate will see their colors.

His heart clenches just a little when his own flicker into his life once more – weak and watered down, like they can't be certain of the outcome, but there long enough for Shiro to learn to resent all things purple with everything left in him. To learn that galra bleed red just like anyone else.

But then they flicker back out again, leaving him awash in the dim gray light of his cell.

Until someone close enough to gray themselves gives him a chance and a word of hope – and sends him home.

Home to where the sands are still gray as he rockets down to the dusty ground, a streaking fireball that he knows must be orange careening toward his saviors.

Just not the ones he expected.

When he wakes to the familiar shack and the familiar head of black hair all he can think of is how Keith's eyes must have been purple.

He finds the color more tolerable after that.

* * *

Keith figured with his luck he'd be seeing color by his twentieth birthday.

He was right.

Though he almost gave someone else the gift of sight before he would know that.

Now though, the words pilot error had curdled something in him, something left to fester under the weight of sad glances and the pity-laced speech of someone who was as unwelcome as he was colorblind.

It's little wonder that he'd found himself sitting on the edge of a cliff once again, as he had shortly after turning eleven and realizing Pops was never coming home. Sitting and thinking about how _easy_ it would be to just... fall. After all, his world hadn't burst into color suddenly after the announcement of the Kerberos failure. Any childish fantasies he had were ash in his mouth. Gray and dusty as the ground beneath his feet.

But sometimes... he gets the flashes. Bright, agonizing pops of color and the ghost of lancing pain written across his skin. Sometimes it lasts long enough that he wonders if they really are dead this time.

Then his arm flares to life and stays, a soft tan with freckled elbows.

The gloves on his palms stay black.

He wears long sleeves after that.

Not that it matters much once Shiro comes arcing back into his life, covered in scars and-

Missing an arm.

He tries not to think too hard about it.

It almost works. He keeps it together through war and discovery and heartache and a creeping certainty that he tries to ignore.

Until he can't.

Until he finds himself facing down certain death at the hands of Zarkon himself, and he hears Shiro scream his name.

And suddenly he knows he can't find out this way. He can't let that happen to Shiro like this, because permanent sight isn't a gift, it's a curse.

A curse that Keith screams over, raw and aching when life bursts into vibrancy.

Shiro's lion is black and purple.

But the wreckage he patrols every day doesn't glow galra purple anymore, even if his blade still does.

And then, Shiro comes back.

And the colors stay.

And Keith wants to weep at whatever sick joke the universe is playing on him, if only to see if he can cry enough to make puddles of blue.

So he leaves, and gives up Red and Black and all the other colors but purple.

And when he throws himself full throttle at the shield of a cruiser ready to lay waste to his only reason for seeing, he feels a flicker of bitterness that maybe someone else will see a flash of color for once.

But silver eyes are as impassive as ever after the briefing, not an ounce of concern in their depths.

He stays gone. Delves into missions dark and dangerous – and finds someone who shares his face.

Who shares his pain, his past, his sight.

And somehow it's not so bad anymore, knowing that someone else's life fell to pieces like his did. Someone else screamed into the sky in rage and agony and learned to live with the boiling fury of how unfair it all was.

And maybe he breathes a little easier, watches the flashes of what has been and what may be come and go in technicolor.

Maybe it gives him the advantage when he finds himself fighting for his life with the sinking understanding that his colors were right all along. After all, a magenta blade is easier to see slicing through the air than a gray one.

Even if it feels the same melting through the flesh on his face.

And when he closes his eyes and plunges through the abyss there's only one face in his mind.

He's only sorry that Shiro never got to see how beautiful color could be.

* * *

When Shiro wakes, the world around him is still gray and Keith's hair is still inky black – even if his own has been bleached white as snow.

Less familiar is the steady look in Keith's eyes, though it's certainly a welcome anchor when he pins Shiro with it as he helps him adjust to life... to the fact that he is alive.

But it doesn't make it ache less when Keith quirks a smile and mentions offhand that his scars are a little less pink every day.

His gut twists as he wonders how Keith even knows, and if that's the color of the scar across Keith's face, but he doesn't know. He only knows what his flesh smells like as it burns, what his screams sound like in the wake of agony.

He never gets the chance to ask, and can't bring himself to anyway in the face of the drowning tide of guilt every time he looks at his best friend, at the man he loves.

So he leaves, stays in a lion he's been told is green, and watches from afar as someone far more fierce and fearless than he will ever be leads them through tribulation and back to their home. Back to a planet under siege and a populace ravaged by occupation - back to the thrust and parry of war that has been drilled into him by human and galra alike.

And when the dust settles... when all they're left with is a time bomb with precious few seconds, Shiro's world bursts into color.

* * *

Keith wakes up to low grade unrelenting agony.

But his mother's smile is blinding as she feeds him ice chips and holds his hand.

The flowers behind her are a riot of reds and purples.

On the television across the room Shiro gives a speech in front of their lions, one about love and loss and hope.

He closes his eyes and enjoys the blackness and the feel of claws in his hair, lulling him to sleep.

He wakes again to inky blue darkness and silvery moonlight spilling through the curtains.

To the bright blue glow of an arm port next to his leg, and shock of white hair resting on gray metal.

It can't be comfortable.

Nudging Shiro awake is a favor to both of them he decides, as Shiro blinks the fog from his eyes and bolts upright.

“Keith, you-” he chokes, eyes welling up with tears, “-you're alive.”

Keith nods back at him, fairly certain he has been for some time.

“They said...” Shiro draws a shuddering breath and lets it out in a sob. “-you were in a coma, and...”

Keith manages a shrug and a nod, but even that hurts. He's pretty sure a coma is the least of his worries right now considering he's currently awake, but Shiro's gaze is haunted.

“Keith... you didn't have a pulse when we got you out of Black.”

“Oh.”

The word is croaked out more than anything, a shocked little sound that he hopes doesn't betray the confusing rush of hope and fear welling up in him.

A hand tangles with his in the sheets. Another tips his chin, ever so gently pulling his gaze from his lap to meet Shiro's own, filled with hope and a sheen of tears.

“Keith have I ever told you... you have the most beautiful purple eyes.”


End file.
